by Nicholas Kronick

Named after the abundance of camas
lilies dotting the meadow blue through the long days of June, Lily Glen offers
a fine sight that comes alive in the summer. This May-July, my field partner
and I spent our days here with the purpose of locating and monitoring the nests
of a local population of Oregon Vesper Sparrows. Our goal was to collect data
on nest success for a range-wide study attempting to determine causes of
declines in this at-risk subspecies unique to the Pacific Northwest. Tracking
these birds took more patience than I had ever imagined, and we made slow
progress finding the nests one by one. And I swear, the Vesper Sparrow is a particularly
fickle little bird who is unsurpassed in misleading humans in the whereabouts
of their nests!

Each day would start before dawn with
a quick breakfast and lots of coffee to keep us attentive during the cold, slow
mornings. The meadow was broken up into four general sections that Jen (the
other field technician), sometimes Sarah (KBO staff biologist), and I would
rotate through, following leads from previous attempts. Male Vesper Sparrows
were quite consistent in their behavior, singing in their territory all morning
and foraging on the ground with their female companion. Females were also
fairly consistent in their behavior, which mostly consisted of foraging with or
without their male companions, and hiding from us, nowhere to be found. We
would crouch, sit, lay down, stand, roll, and crawl to try to keep the birds
visible in the dense grass while remaining far enough away for them to go about
their business.

An Oregon Vesper Sparrow carrying food to itsnestlings – an important behavioral cue for a nest-searcher! Photo (c) Nicholas Kronick

Most nests this year were found by
food carries to the nestlings. Both the male and female assist with this duty
once the eggs have hatched, and the nestlings grow rapidly until they leave the
nest around ten days later. A handful of nests were found by following a female
who was observed carrying nesting material repeatedly to a general location.
This method, although common with other birds when locating nests, was
particularly difficult with our Vespers as they like to land on the ground some
meters away from the nest and then walk or run the remaining distance
undetected through thick grass. Additionally, we had a few “luck” finds, in
which a nest was found by unintentionally flushing a female off the nest while
walking through the meadow.

Oregon Vesper Sparrow nestlings. Photo (c) Nicholas Kronick

The most rewarding part of this job
was after weeks of following the progress of a nest from creation to egg laying
to hatching to fledging, seeing a little family of Vesper Sparrows exploring
new lengths of the meadow together, learning the ropes of being a bird in the
free world. Really, when it comes down to it, being a nest searcher means
simply not giving up. There were many days when I, the least experienced of the
field crew, after a half hour or so of attentively watching a female would give
up and think “she’s not doing anything but eating.” Yet as Sarah would always
remind me, you just need to be patient and wait for the birds to give you a
clue.
Our Vesper Sparrows have now all migrated south
to spend the winter across pasture lands full of seeds and ground spared by
snow. I know that we are all excited to see their return to Lily Glen next
spring – and with the identifying color bands applied to dozens of individuals
over the past two seasons, it will be a pleasure to see which birds return for
another spring in the mountain meadows outside of Ashland.

An Oregon Vesper Sparrow nest with four eggs in the meadow at Lily Glen. Photo (c) Sarah Rockwell

Editor’s note: The Oregon Vesper Sparrow population is estimated to be <3,000 individuals. Along with researchers in the Willamette and Umpqua Valleys, OR, and the Puget Lowlands, WA, we are studying their nest success, survival rates, and habitat associations. Our goal is to find out how to target conservation actions to halt and reverse their population decline. The 2019 field season was supported by the Oregon Wildlife Foundation, Charlotte Martin, and the Management Studies Support Program for National Conservation Lands.

I’m at the last point count station of the day, near the saddle of a ridge, at the top of a draw. The mature mixed conifer-oak forest is humid and dark after a late spring rain. And it’s quiet, in contrast to the dry live oak and manzanita chaparral nearby. As I start the count, I hear the cacophony of bird song below me, of birds I passed and already counted on the way up the ridge. Two Black-headed Grosbeak males singing full volume, interrupting each other. And another to the west a few hundred meters. The lilting mutter song of a Western Tanager compliments them, and a very distant American Robin adds a thrushy vibrato background. And what, more than hormones, has agitated the grosbeaks, are two Northern Pygmy-Owls, their long carrying toots, echoing back and forth across the ravine. These small and ravenous predators are something feared by songbirds. A Mountain Quail’s “quark” song begins to match the tempo of the owls’. A clan of Steller’s Jays, who’ve been keeping watch on the owls, give “took-took” contact calls, in tempo and tone matching the Pygmys’ “poot”.

Sonic chaos? Not quite. This is orderly avian communication during the busiest time of year. Reproduction is the foremost goal of every bird here, and singing males and territorial birds represent a generation being produced. The number of breeding adults is an accurate measure of an avian population’s health and I’m here to take that measurement. Point counts, in this case five minutes long with a distance to bird estimate, are an ideal standardized way to collect data. Arranged in transects of 12 permanent points through contiguous habitat and combined with vegetation data collected with birds’ use in mind, point count data can give a quick view of a location’s avifauna or a long term record of population trends.

Now a minute into the count, finally a new bird; the thin airy “seep” of a Brown Creeper nearby. Maybe the old trees flaking bark is an attractive feature. And another following it, possibly a dependent juvenile. A faint growl-ish call. Hmm. A Red-breasted Sapsucker at a nest? Too quiet, and I’ve heard nothing else to substantiate that. I’ll come back to it. A sibilant rising warbler song. It’s almost certainly one in the Black-throated Gray’s repertoire, though the density of Douglas Firs would suggest a Hermit Warbler, and only four days ago a wave of migrating Townsend’s Warblers flooded the canopy. Two Oregon Juncos twitter, a pair feeding together. And just before the timer goes off, a Cassin’s Vireo’s leisurely one sided conversation starts. A-ha … the faint growler revealed! Maybe the pair is nesting in the ancient Black Oaks, their one-meter diameter trunks reaching up through the thick conifers.

I was here three years ago, same route, close to the same date, and my memory is that Cassin’s Vireos were abundant, but this year the resident Hutton’s Vireos are singing at most points. Are the Cassin’s here but not singing? Did the Hutton’s population explode? Do they avoid singing at the same time to avoid sonic competition? Has the late rain altered the situation? Or is it the warm April different? Earlier flowering and leafing out of plants could mean earlier insect hatches, which would affect crucial food sources for nesting birds. Invertebrates are the backbone of the nestling season (heh!). Or rain and cold late in May could stop migrants short of their usual territories. On top of this, Whiskeytown NRA is being comprehensively managed with prescribed fire, and effects from this will become evident over time as birds respond to changing habitats.

Fortunately, to reduce these uncertainties, this project’s design calls for an astounding 10 surveys over 30 years. This glowing example of true long-term monitoring, reflecting perseverance and insight will help illuminate patterns in a variable and changing natural world.

Introduction by Sarah Rockwell:We described the start of the Yellow-breasted Chat geolocator project in a previous blog post (CLICK HERE TO VIEW). Geolocators are lightweight devices designed to track a birds’ whereabouts by recording daily light levels. These novel data can then be used to determine migratory routes and wintering grounds—we need to know where birds go when they leave their breeding grounds before we can understand potential conservation needs during migration and winter. Since then, we have recruited a Ph.D. student, Kristen Mancuso, who is supervised by researchers at the University of British Columbia and Environment and Climate Change Canada. KBO’s Executive Director, John Alexander, is an advisor on her committee. She is studying chats in British Columbia, northern California, and Mexico—throughout the range of the western subspecies. Here is a project volunteer’s account from last year’s field season!

By Kelly Commons, HSU Master’s student

On my first day with the Yellow-breasted Chat project, I woke up to a dark, early morning with more than a bit of chill to the air. Since it was my first day, I would have the help of veteran chat-catching volunteer Kachina Rowland and the project leader Kristen Mancuso. We were on the hunt (to catch and release!) chats that wore color bands on their legs which meant they also wore a geolocator device we needed to remove for its record of where they had been since last year.

We had made our way to a site the team had been to several times before (unsuccessfully) to catch the notorious Dark Blue-White-Dark Blue-metal (DWDX for short). As the sun rose high over the hills and the day turned long, Mr. DWDX had managed to evade our nets. In fact his constant chattering song seemed to mock our best efforts. Disappointed but still game, we tried elsewhere looking for color-banded chats in riparian forest overgrown with blackberries that chats seem to love. Chats make a confusing variety of grunts, chatters, and whistles, so we had to keep a sharp ear out for any of their more subtle call notes. We found several singing males, but none of them were color banded. The day ended warm and sunny but with just three more days left to find our chats!

The next morning we trudged through streams, rocky hills, and blackberry bushes and while we found several chats, none of them were banded. About to give up, we finally heard one last male singing in the distance and scouted his territory before calling it a day. We split up to opposite sides of this chat’s bramble. I caught glimpses of him flying back and forth across an opening in the trees, but I couldn’t see his legs well enough to tell if he had any color bands. I was moving to a better location when Kristen spotted him—and his bands! This male had a geolocator and we were determined to catch him the next day. A successful day deserves a reward and after we got back to camp we treated ourselves to s’mores around the campfire.

On the next to last day in the field, we trudged over and through yesterday’s streams, rocky hills, and blackberry bushes to set up nets for our newly found bird. We set up wooden decoy males by the nets even though the other birds the team had tried to catch weren’t falling for this trick. However, within minutes of playing a recorded male song at the decoy, our male flew in the net! Gotcha! We removed his geolocator, took measurements, feather samples, and snapped a few pictures before setting him on his merry way. We even had enough time left in the morning to try for old DWDX again! Nets and decoys were deployed for him but we weren’t able to repeat our morning’s luck. A lovely female Black-headed Grosbeak in the net did brighten my mood before we headed back to camp.

Yellow-breasted Chat by Jim Livaudais (c) 2018

The last morning was full of promise as we attempted to catch DWDX one more time. We set up nets in a different location, but still weren’t able to convince him to come into our nets. We did, however, catch his previously unbanded neighbor and outfitted him with some spiffy new bands before we let him go. As the day wore on, we became less and less hopeful. However, a feisty Red-breasted Sapsucker caught in the net was just the pick-me-up we needed to end the day on a good note. We may not have caught our nemesis, but we left with smiles on our faces. Now Kristen moves on to British Columbia to catch returning chats there, as Kachina and I return to regular life, with a bit more knowledge and experience under our belts.

Editor’s note: The 2017 Yellow-breasted Chat banding team, comprised of PhD student Kristen Mancuso, KBO Research Biologist Sarah Rockwell, and Humboldt State University volunteers Kachina Rowland and Kelly Commons, recaptured three males with geolocators this season, nearly doubling the sample size from the Trinity River region. We even recovered one from a male who had dutifully carried his geolocator backpack since 2014!

It is hard to say what I enjoyed more. Was it the photographs Mel Clements showed us depicting the seasons of the Klamath Basin accompanied to music at the evening talk? Was it being in the Butte Valley with master birding guide Frank Lospalluto pointing out the 10 or so Golden Eagles? Or was it later in the afternoon when outing participant Kirby took us to where the 5,000 Snow Geese and 1,000 Sandhill Cranes were grazing at the back of a large pond on the Lower Klamath National Wildlife Refuge?

Our tribe of 15 bird lovers roamed the Klamath Basin and experienced the wonder of it all: sky, landscape, raptors, and waterfowl. It was in the sharing of the beauty that we felt a sweet connection not just to the land that we love so much but also to each other.

Our birding adventure group on a sunny day in the Klamath Basin

After going on this trip one participant wrote me this email: “Well I just have to say that for my first real birding outing WOW!! Amazing! I look forward to many more birding experiences and am so grateful to have been able to join y’all yesterday and for your patience with my rudimentary questions. Best day ever!!! Hahaha – I have to laugh … cuz actually best day ever was when my daughter was born 41 years ago … and Kirk was there then, too!!?” She shared this birding adventure with the doctor who delivered her daughter. How is that for coming full circle!

Golden Eagle hunting in the Klamath Basin by Kirk Gooding

KBO’s Talk and Walk series occurs throughout the year giving folks a chance to have a beautifully crafted informative talk accompanied by an outing. The next Talk and Walk will be in February and will be on Hawks of the Klamath Basin led by raptor expert Dick Ashford. Information on that will be announced soon. Contact Shannon Rio for information about the Talk and Walk series.

I stood outside the barbed-wire fence that guarded the historical barn from vandals, camera and binoculars in hand. The fence was also protecting a family of barn owls. I had seen one of the adults fly into the upper loft through an opening on the west side the barn the night before. Just seconds after the adult disappeared behind the warped, weathered wood, owlet cries poured into the night air—feeding time! I wanted a closer look at the owls.

With my binoculars I searched the interior of the barn. The evening sun pierced through large gaps in the siding creating beams of dusty light but this did nothing to illuminate the shadowy recesses of the structure. But my eyes adjusted to the dim light nonetheless. As I looked about the lower loft my eye caught sight of large wing. My mind immediately registered something was terribly wrong, for the wing was upside down and splayed open. One of the young had recently died and its body hung between some boards. Then out of the shadows a shape moved slightly. An owlet was perched on the edge of a horse stall. It slowly lifted its head using its wings to balance itself but the motion was slow, deliberate and possibly painful. Its emaciated body told me this youngster was not getting fed with the others and would likely die soon as well.

But there had to be a couple other owlets that were healthy and had made all that racket the night before. So I moved to another spot where I could see into the upper loft. The right corner was empty. On the left side however, stood a well-made owl hut complete with a pitched roof and large round opening. Perched in front were the two adult barn owls.

Barn Owls by Claudia Strijek

Their heart-shaped faces held my gaze not moving an inch. The larger female sat just in front of the male guarding her family. I took in the details of their feather patterns. The white faces were trimmed in dark grey-brown. Between widely-spread dark eyes was an elongated nose bridge that ended with a blond-colored hooked beak. There were grey and brown spots peppered around their throats, breast and underside which merged into rusty-brown wings and backs. This reversed pattern was quite beautiful.

I stood there for several more minutes, taking photos and admiring the patterned plumage of the adults but the young remained hidden and silent. I left the family to their restful state and looked forward to hearing their night activity again that evening.

The old ones were here when the erupting earth spewed forth a fire river. They saw the red and orange molten rock fill the valley and saw huge plumes of smoke. They stared at the changing landscape for too long and the red burned into their eyes. So now we all have red eyes to remind us of a time that passed but may come again.

This is my take on a Native American tale I heard not long ago. After being in Lava Beds National Monument for two weeks walking over all that cooled lava flow, I could
not help but think of this common bird with its red eye.

Editor’s note—the Spotted Towhee’s iris color changes with age. Upon hatching, the young have dull grayish-brown eyes. Over its first winter the eye color progresses from brownish hues to an orangey-red to red. It is the older individuals that have deep red eyes.

I glance up haphazardly thru thin trees, binoculars in hand, looking for winged activity. My eyes meet a fierce stare only a few feet above me. I freeze in place hoping to not cause this little hunter to flush. Two small golden eyes, surrounded by spotted feathers forming a disc shape on either side of a pale hooked beak, are the features I notice immediately. How long have you been watching me, I ask myself? Like so many forest dwellers I’m certain its detection is easily ten-times my own and has in all likelihood noticed my fellow bird surveyors and me for some time already.

I whisper to the others of my discovery and they slowly move in for a better look. The small bird rotates its head towards the new onlookers without body movement in that manner which all owls are capable of—a motion often mimicked in movies by aliens or possessed people but never as gracefully executed. It views us with disregard, perhaps even some contempt as if to confirm who has the upper hand and rules the forest.

This is the Northern Pygmy-owl, one of the smallest owls in North America, standing on average 6.5” tall and wing span 15”. It is diurnal and feeds primarily on songbirds in coniferous forests. A very aggressive hunter, it will search for prey in tree cavities as well as snatch birds in flight or on the ground. In case its hunting prowess were not enough its “false eyes” feather pattern on the nape keeps all prey edgy and on alert as well as deflect its enemies.

I slowly back away for several yards, then sprint back to the truck for my camera. A “life list” bird for me, I don’t want to miss this chance to get some photographs. I run back into the forest with my camera hoping the owl would still be perched. I stop short of my original position to relocate the bird. It had not flown and I snap several close-ups, grateful and amazed at my luck.

Zoomed in I notice its feather pattern more so—in profile I see tiny feathers protruding between the eyes and beak. Its rusty dark brown plumage resembles the bark color of incense cedar. But it’s the false eyes that really capture me. Unlike the wide and round real ones, these black and white feathered patterns are narrowed and angry. Both pairs seem to be constantly searching, watching, scanning; this pint-size predator transfixes me.

It is these encounters that draw me to this important biological work season after season—there is magic, inspiration and rewards beyond words.

Bird survey location at a post-assisted woody structure (PAWS) site on the Scott River, CA. Beavers have added chewed stems to the structure, visible in the lower part of the photo. (c) Scott River Watershed Council 2015

Beavers, like humans, are engineers of their own habitats, carrying out construction projects that make more food resources and housing available to them. Recently, beavers have been recognized by land managers as playing a vital role in maintaining diverse stream and riparian habitats. The benefits of beaver impoundments in a watershed include slowing and spreading the flow of water, improving water retention and groundwater recharge, increasing base flows, and lengthening the time in summer when above-ground flows are present. Given that climate change is expected to increase drought and reduce snow pack, water storage from beaver dams may be an effective way to help offset decreased water resources. Beaver dams can also expand the size and complexity of wetlands, providing important habitat for birds, fish, aquatic invertebrates, mammals, and amphibians. Ironically, after decades of trapping and removing ‘pest’ beavers, they are now understood to be a keystone species vital to the health of the land. Beavers have been successfully reintroduced to public and private lands in Washington and Utah to control erosion, capture water during droughts, and improve salmon fisheries.
This fall, KBO entered into a new partnership project with the Scott River Watershed Council near Etna, CA, to monitor ecological changes resulting from the creation of PAWS (post-assisted woody structures) — PAWS are built by people to mimic the beneficial effects of beaver dams. KBO is monitoring changes in bird abundance and diversity at PAWS sites to assess the success of these restoration efforts. Past studies of beavers in New York and Arizona show that active beaver sites, and all of their associated habitat complexity, support more species of birds than sites without beavers. Our partners at the Scott River Watershed Council are also monitoring the effects of PAWS on water quality and quantity, and are ensuring that the short, permeable structures are not barriers to fish passage.
So, why not just “leave it to the beavers?” Actually, not all beavers build dams. Some dig bank burrows into the earthen sides of a waterbody or river channel to create their lodges, particularly on deep lakes, larger rivers, and in places where water flows are too fast to build stable dams. Many beavers observed in the Scott River Valley seem to fall into this category of “bankies”. However, permeable wood structures with water flowing through have been known to be too tempting for beavers to resist. The rushing water can actually trigger dam-building behavior, so the area’s resident beavers may soon be helping humans restore streams in the Scott River valley!

The Hermit Thrush is very well named. One might not know of its presence but for a soft quoit call or a brownish blur rushing into the base of a bush. They are a quiet, skulking, and reclusive species. This is a good reason for trying to catch them in nets to quickly place a band on their leg, figure out their age and sex, assess their physical condition, and release them on their way. Researchers attempting to learn more about Hermit Thrushes usually capture many more of them than are heard or seen. And with a brief examination in the hand we learn so much more than could be learned from a passing encounter using non-capture monitoring methods.

KBO has banded a great many Hermit Thrushes over decades of monitoring at several study sites in our monitoring network. They are consistently in the top ten most numerously captured species each year. This species is present throughout the year in our Klamath Siskiyou Bioregion. And so it was mid-September a couple years ago at a study site along the western shore of Upper Klamath Lake …

The Odessa Creek Campground, within Fremont-Winema National Forest and about 22 miles west of Klamath Falls, Oregon, is the location of a KBO long-term monitoring station operated each year since the fall of 1996. The campground is well-known as a hot birding spot and as a “vagrant trap” – that is, as a place where bird species show up far away from their usual range of distribution. This has made the station an exciting one to operate over the years with several species captured that might be considered out-of-place like American Redstart, Black-and-White Warbler, Gray Catbird, Chestnut-sided Warbler, Ovenbird, and others. But the real value of the study site is its usual richness of birdlife during the nesting season and fall migration. The habitat is mixed with a fairly mature conifer forest adjacent to an expansive riparian forest and the great wetlands of Upper Klamath Lake. The mixed and rich nature of habitat equates to a mixed and rich bird community. There are many breeding species as well as large migration waves using the area.

On September 18, 2012 KBO biologists experienced a fairly big and busy day capturing 65 birds of 15 species, including flycatchers, jays, wrens, chickadees, thrushes, warblers, sparrows, and finches. One of these was a Hermit Thrush given the band number 2551-10469, a healthy youngster just hatched earlier that year. The following week, another busy day was had at Odessa Creek Campground with 76 captures, several of these already-banded, including our quiet and skulking acquaintance number 2551-10469. After that day, we had no further contact with Hermit Thrush number 2551-10469. That is, until earlier this year with the arrival of a report from the U.S. Geological Survey Bird Banding Laboratory that 2551-10469 had been captured and released by a banding operation at Cabrillo National Monument near San Diego, California on April 4, 2014!

But this hermit’s story doesn’t end there. Many chapters are yet to be uncovered — where was this bird hatched? What route has it used in its migrations? Where has it ultimately gone in its northern nesting and southern wintering destinations? The hermit’s tale has an exciting beginning with nine days in September at Odessa Creek Campground and a flashy appearance (with a shiny band) at Cabrillo National Monument a year and a half later, after three migrations of over 800 miles during each journey. What ribald and dashing adventures to be had, what dangers to be narrowly escaped, what sun and song filled summer mornings to come? We anxiously await the next installment … or as we say in biology, more study needed.

This is a preview of the Spring Birds of Malheur trip written by KBO Board President Harry Fuller. Trip #2 (June 11th-15th) is selling out fast!

The Malheur National Wildlife Refuge was created by President Theodore Roosevelt over a century ago. Malheur has long had a reputation as a great birding hotspot in the high sagebrush steppe of eastern Oregon. Nearly 200,000 acres of lake, marsh and riparian habitat surrounded by steep mountains make the Malheur Basin a rich and diverse birding location. Oregon largest breeding colonies of White Pelicans and Sandhill Cranes are found here. Many other species are at the western edge of their breeding range, including Bobolink, Eastern Kingbird, and Franklin’s Gull. Raptors we will see include Bald and Golden Eagle, Swainson’s and Ferruginous Hawk, Prairie Falcon, Kestrel and many Northern Harrier. Short-eared, Barn, Great Horned, and Burrowing Owls all nest in the area. We may see a dozen species of waterfowl including Blue-winged and Cinnamon Teal. The land birds we will see include daylight hunting Common Nighthawks, flocks of White-faced Ibis, Loggerhead Shrike, Sage Thrasher, with the largest song repertoire of any bird on Earth, Say’s Phoebe, nesting Willet and Long-billed Curlew, Wilson’s Snipe, Brewer’s and Sagebrush Sparrow, Rock Wren, and late migrants which may include vagrants from the east. Mammals we can expect include pronghorn, coyote, yellow-bellied marmot, Townsend’s cottontail, Belding’s ground squirrel, and perhaps long-tailed weasel. The Malheur National Wildlife Refuge is an incredible birding hotspot, with over 280 species recorded. It is a must-see destination for birders and nature lovers.